Sunny Antarctica
by BlackMoonShine
Summary: Buffy/X-Men crossover. Spike is found after he saved the world and is brought to the mansion by Trask after the Antarctica fiasco. He gets a taste for someone's blood, but Gambit it bitter and not about to let Spike in. Spike/Gambit Slash.
1. Chapter 1

I've been wanting to do this for a while. It's a Buffy/X-Men crossover. Slash, so don't like, don't read.

This is set after Antarctica in the X-Men universe and after the Buffy season, ignoring the Angel series.

Enjoy!

* * *

Jean stepped back from the door in surprise. Trask was standing there in all his intimidating glory.

She pressed the intercom button. "Logan...?" She called out hesitantly. "There's...there's someone here to...see you." It felt strange calling Logan up because of a visitor. Not that he didn't get them, but they were rare, and it felt like calling him up and asking if he wanted to "go outside and play" like a child.

"I don't need Logan for this." Trask told her gruffly. "This is something for you guys. I got a mutant here. Knocked out cold. Been out since we found him two days ago. We can't get him up for nothin'."

"Well, Hank probably has something to give him." She buzzed the intercom again. "Hank, you're needed in the foyer."

"I will be up in a moment." Came the reply.

"Doubt it. We tried every drug that the military possesses, and a few that we don't. I'd be surprised if we didn't fry his liver. But that's not the issue either."

"Okay, but that does sound like an issue..." Jean started.

"Look, the guy is dead. Not breathing, no pulse, dead."

Jean's brow furrowed. "Why do you want us to look at a corpse? We don't know how to raise the dead, even with drugs."

Trask gave her a look.

"Yet we seem to keep popping back up don't we? But I don't know what you think Hank will be able to do. Why are you even trying drugs? What makes you think he's not as he seems? You know, dead. Does he have a physical mutation?"

"No. His mutation is being alive without air or a beating heart. He twitches, his eyes and he mumbles every now and again, like someone asleep."

Jean just stared. "Wow, that's new. Even for us."

"Yeah. But we're doin' something wrong. He's dying, for real, and even we can see it. His lips are turning gray, he's moving and talking less. No one knows what to do. He's no fun unless he's awake, so we figured we'd give him to you for a bit. See if you can figure it out."

"Yes, dear?" Hank stepped out into the foyer. "Ah, Hello, Trask." The doctor called out happily.

Trask grunted. "I just explained to your girl. We got him out in the van. I'll get some of my men to bring him in."

As Trask turned and walked out the door towards a van guarded by two men, Hank turned to Jean.

"What, pray tell, is going on? When has Trask ever brought us anyone?"

"This mutant is dead apparently. That's his mutation."

Hank looked at the van, intrigued. "Really? Now how do you suppose that happened? Though I have seen some very strange things. It boggles my mind."

"Yes, Hank," Jean said rolling her eyes. "I know."

"Want us to take him to the lab?" Trask called out. He was standing next to a stretcher where a young man lay prone.

"Yes, do come around to the back door." Hank answered, before hurrying down to the lab, a look of glee on his face.

"Yeah Jean?" Logan called from the top of the stairwell. "You wanted me?"

"Oh, sorry Logan. Wrong person."

Logan grunted before going back to his room.

* * *

Hank checked the monitors. No breath. No pulse. Yet the young man moved position every so often, though feebly. Hank had no choice but to accept that he had no idea how to treat the young man.

He pulled out a needle. He needed to get some blood work done on him. Hank noticed how thin the man looked. He hoped he had enough blood for Hank to run a few tests. He tied off the arm with rubber tubing and inserted the needle into the vein on the inside of his arm. He drew the plunger back. He stared in confusion. There seemed to be a block. He pulled harder. A thin trickle of something thick and red, much too thick to be blood came out.

_Oh dear,_ Hank thought to himself._ I don't think I can preform a blood test without blood..._

He put the blood on a slide to look at it under the microscope. The red fluid, though liquid, had the texture of sand. When looking at it under the microscope, he discovered that the cells were dead.

He swiveled in his chair, perplexed about how to proceed. He did not know this man's history. If he was severely allergic to anything, how his mutation reacted...He simply did not know how to proceed. If he did not figure it out soon though, this man would die. That much had been made clear to him.

"Hank..." Hank turned to Scott who walked in, wearing an old tee-shirt and jeans splattered with paint, supporting Remy who was in much the same condition, except he was limping and the arm that he held to his chest was covered in blood.

"Oh dear." Hank rushed over to relieve Scott of his burden. "What happened?"

"We were painting the house. He was on the ladder. I have no idea how it happened, but he fell, cut himself on something and I think he twisted his ankle. Maybe broke some bones in his foot. He landed hard."

"I'll go back to painting the house. Unless you want me to stay..." Scott started.

"Non, y' go finish it. If y' don't, it'll never get done." Remy told him shifting his weight onto Hank. "'m not dead."

"Right." Scott left.

"You sit here." Hank told Remy. "Acquaint yourself with out new guess. Tell him a bit about yourself. And grab those bandages on the shelf, I need to go get some disinfectant."

"Uh, Hank?" But he was gone. Remy looked nervously at the flat lined monitor. Dead people creeped him out when they were laying right next to him. And what was Hank talking about? Get to know him? "He probably had a pet rock when he was a kid." Remy mumbled.

He reached out for to get the bandages with his right hand. He forgot that his entire wrist was bloody. "Oh shit." He said when a drop of blood fell onto the dead man's cheek, running down his face like a red tear. "That's embarrassing." He paused for a moment before reaching a hand down to wipe away the blood.

Brown eyes flash open and Remy stared in shock.


	2. Eating People

Spike did not know when the sensation of feeling came back to him. He still couldn't feel much. He felt like he was wrapped in membrane, floating in something protective that cushioned and muffled what was going on around him. He felt almost like he was drunk except without the distortion, just the feeling of floating in his skin. He only saw black. Not aware of much outside his own mind other than the sharp poking, prodding, or electricity that sometimes found their way into his consciousness. He screamed in his mind from the pain.

Memories...they came back to him in fragments, not making much sense. He thought he should know what these images meant. A crazy dark haired girl, an angry dark haired man...so much of his memories were dark. The meaning of them was right on the tip of his tongue, just past his finger tips. There was a blond girl. He loved her as soon as he saw her picture in his mind. He knew by the way his stomach dropped and his chest constricted. And a necklace. A horribly ugly thing.

He felt like his nerves had been fried and were slowly burning like embers back to life.

And blood. He swam in the blood for how long he did not know, consumed with the horrible thoughts of bathing in a bathtub full of blood. A memory. Of drinking, drinking, drinking in the thick crimson syrup that tasted like old pennies. He felt like the blood in his veins was turning to ash. His mouth was parched. He was paralyzed. He tried to move. A man in a desert. There was only the dryness. The scratching in the throat. The lethargy. When would he die? He felt like he already had.

Then there was rain. He would have cried with relief and joy as he felt the drop on his face. The wet trail it left on his cheek. He struggled to see. Fought against the blanket that held him in the blackness.

His eyes finally opened, though they felt like they had been glued shut. His joints felt like they had rusted together; unmovable. The first thing he was was the red. Crimson. Blood. It clouded his vision, narrowed his sight until that was all that his paper dry thoughts saw.

He lurched forward and sunk his teeth into the tender wrist and almost died from the orgasmic pleasure it caused.

Remy was so shocked that he did not react. How was one supposed to react to this? Corpses coming to life? He did not even step back as he man came towards him. The bite was painful. It really did feel as though someone had just some up to him and bit a chunk out of his wrist. He jerked his wrist back but the man was holding him in such a death grip that his movements made no difference. He shot out a punch to the man's head and it connected with a crunch. The man spared him no attention. He tried a different approach.

"Y' know, usually people try t' go on a date before they start this kind of kinky stuff." Silence. Okay, not the most witty thing Remy had ever said, but what to do? Was his life in danger? He didn't know yet, though he was feeling terribly lightheaded. What would the X-Men say? He had only been back from Antarctica for a few months. What would they say? Not only do you slaughter morlocks, you try to re-kill dead people. Even if said dead person was a vampire, and he had no doubt that this was what he was.

He knew the stories though. He wasn't going to be killed, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be turned into one of the damned. Okay, too much time thinking.

He twisted around until he had the vampire in a reverse headlock, prying his mouth away from his wrist, finally. Damn, that guy had some strong jaws. Those dark eyes stared at him. His mouth dripped blood, _my blood_, he thought, onto his black shirt.

"Well, this is disconcerting." Hank announced when he entered the room. He debated whether he should even enter the room now that his corpse was alive and eating people, but the coherent look in the man's eyes told him he was safe. He no longer held a feral look, though he looked confused and not all there.

"Hank-" Remy turned around. He must have moved too suddenly because his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to meet the floor.

"Oh, dear. Blood loss I suppose." Hank said as he lifted Remy easily in his arms before placing him on the medical table next to the living corpse.

"Now, you." He said once he had Remy settled. "Care to explain this mutation to me? Because I will admit, I don't understand it a bit."

"Mutation?" He asked, dazed in a voice, hoarse from lack of use.

Hank looked closely at the young man. His eyes were glazed. The blood on his mouth was drying. His platinum blond hair had grown out, revealing brown roots.

"What do they call you?" Hank asked him, hoping for some kind of helpful information. All he could tell that the man was British by his accent.

"Spike." He said slowly, tasting the name on his lips. He felt heavy, as though he were about to fall back to sleep at any moment. It hadn't been enough blood.

Hank's brow furrowed. "Is that your name?"

"No. William."

"Ah, then, William, will you explain to me how you are alive yet dead?"

William laughed without humor. "Vampire. With a soul." He seemed to awaken for a moment. "I didn't mean to attack him. He was there. And there was blood..." His voice trailed off and he fell back against the pillows.

"Vampire..." Hank was unsure whether to believe the man or not. Considering that he had just drank a good amount of blood from one of his teammates, he would have to assume for the moment that he was telling the truth. And that worried him.

He took a bag of blood from the refrigerator and hooked it up to the vampire. Maybe he really was a vampire. Or maybe he was just crazy.

He used his time to hook Remy up to a bag of fluids and bandaged (and heavily disinfected) his wrist before feeling his ankle and foot. Not broken, just twisted.

He sat at his desk and began researching vampires. He did not find anything that was particularly useful. Diabetics were once thought of as vampires because they would fall into a coma and be unwakable. That Elizabeth Bathory was a crazy lady. Nothing that said whether vampire bites were infectious. And nothing that really fit the description of this young man. If only he could find out more about him.

Though he did find out a lot of useful information about Bella Lugosi.

* * *

Wow, I'm so glad this got such a good reception. I'll try to keep it interesting for you guys :)

Okay, some comments: I was watching old BTVS videos and Spike's eyes seemed dark so I said they were brown even though they might have been another color, that's what I'm sticking with.

And FYI, this isn't going to be a horribly gory sadist/masochist thing, so don't get worried/excited about that.

If you feel I'm letting the story get to boring or you think I'm not keeping the characters true or whatever else you think I'm doing wrong, it's okay to tell me, and I wish that you would.


	3. Chapter 3

"I seem t' wake up here a lot." Remy commented to Hank as the furry doctor removed his IV and got ready to discharge him. He had been unconscious for several hours.

"Well, you do seem to get yourself into a lot of trouble." The doctor replied, amiable enough.

Remy looked at his bandaged wrist. "I feel icky. Should I be flattered that I'm edible?"

"I've heard that humans taste remarkable like pork. Our skin is very similar. That's what people who have eaten human flesh say, anyway. I, myself, have never had the urge to try it."

"I'm glad." Remy raised his eyebrow at the strange topic conversation. "Will he be wakin' up soon?" He nodded his head in the vampire's direction. He was not in a hurry to become any more acquainted with him than he had already become. He planned on staying well out of his way while he was in the mansion.

"I have no idea. I can't quite say that I believe he is a vampire, after all, all scientific knowledge disagrees with his statement. But if you had told Isaac Newton that there were going to be mutants, he would have disagreed. I hope he wakes up soon though. I have many questions to ask him."

Remy decided not to voice his opinion of that matter. He had no doubt the man was a vampire. After all, what else could he be? Zombies were not as intelligent. And if he were a zombie he would have gone for his delicious brains. Werewolf's did not do the whole blood thing. They were cleanly.

He hopped down from the bed and limped his way to the door. "When he needs to be watched while y' go on y'r Twinkie run, don' come lookin' for me."

The doors closed quietly behind him.

* * *

Jean sat at the kitchen table and empty plate scattered with crumbs in front of her. She looked up when Remy came in.

"Have you seen Hank's new patient?"

"Seen 'im? Are you kiddin' me? He's had more of me than any lover I've ever had! If he ever comes near me again, I'll tell him what he can do with his pointy devil teeth..." He walked right out the back door, mumbling more about devils and demons and delicious brains.

"Okayyy..." Jean said, eyes wide with confusion. She really did not need that kind of excess information. It made her wonder what kinds of things were going on down in the medlab.

* * *

About an hour later Hank came upon Jean still sitting at the table.

"This is Jean, she is the resident telepath. Married to our fearless leader." He said, speaking to the blond man who looked worse for wear. Jean looked up at him. He was six feet tall at least, but he seemed taller in black jeans and a black shirt. He was ghost like. He looked confused, unsettled, as though he could not really process what was going on. When he saw Jean a slow smile spread over his face. Jean shuddered. He looked like a predator.

"Hey." was all he said though. She had expected a sleazy comment.

"Hello." She put as much warmth as she could muster into her smile and voice but it just seemed to freeze when it came near him. She knew he could tell that she was being fake-happy. But what was she supposed to do? She was the mansions mother hen.

"Now, Jean. I was wondering if you could help me out here. Would you mind grabbing some paper and a writing instrument?"

"Sure." Jean directed her gaze towards Hank. It was easier to talk to him.

A pen and a notebook later (and one mug of "blood"), they were all seated at the table. Jean hoped it was not blood, but even the thought of someone drinking blood made her feel queasy.

"I thought it would be best to have Jean doing this so I could question you more thoroughly. Also, if we need any help cracking into your noggin, she is available." Jean nodded to Hank but he did not seem to notice. The blond surely did. His lips quirked in a small smirk.

"Now, you told me before that your name is William. What is your last name?"

William cringed at hearing his name. "Call me Spike. I can't stand that pompous first name shit. And the last name _was_ Pratt. I'm not in any data base, so don't bother looking for me."

Jean thought that was a strange comment. _God, what if he really is one of those people who thinks they're a vampire? I've had my dose of crazy for this month..._

Hank did not seem to notice anything strange, he just continued his questioning.

"When were you born?"

He thought for a moment. "1860, or thereabout. You can't honestly expect me to remember that. Once you turn 18, birthdays don't matter much anymore. I never much cared about mine."

Hank and Jean shared a look, and Spike did not miss it. "Look, if you don't believe me, I don't really fuckin' care. This is bullocks. What am I doing? Having an interview?" He stood up from the table. "Am I free to leave this place or am I being kept as a prisoner?" Hank did not mean to upset his patient.

"Look, if you would like to make this easier, Jean could just scan your memories. Find out how you managed to get into the condition you were in, unless of course, you remember?"

Spike stared at the wall above them. "No. I don't remember. I was in Sunnydale with Buffy...about to fight the big bad. She needs me..." He seemed to grow anxious. "I need to get back."

"Come here." Jean coxed with her mother hen voice. "If we can figure this out quickly, then you can get back quickly."

"Eh..." He looked at her for a second before dropping back into the chair. "I don't know how this works." He warned her.

"That's okay." She said, still soothing. "I don't require you to do anything."

His mind was dark, but there were flashes of gold and light. Memories whizzed by. _There are too many memories if he were in his twenties. There are ore memories here than even the professor has. If wolverine had all his memories, his mind would be like this._

She found the flashing light bundled up with darkness. The missing memories. Trying to go through the black mass was like trying to swim through tar. _Spike_ she thought out to him_ relax. You're making it too hard to go through your memories._

The tar feeling left to be replaced by the feeling of swimming against the tide. _At least it's something..._

_Oh dear..._ The memories burst for in a torrent, leaving Jean feeling dizzy.

Super vampires. Slayers. A Goddess One Evil. An ugly necklace. _I love you_. Maniacal laughter. Disintegration. _GET OUT!_ Spike screeched into her head.

When Jean came to, Spike dropped to his knees and vomited. Hank stayed on the other side of the room. Jean would handle it, as only she knew what had happened. He would only get in the way.

Jean stared at him for a moment. _He is a vampire._ She had seen the Chinese slayer he had killed without any mercy, and no feelings of regret. But she also had felt the warm feelings he held towards this Buffy girl. She saw him receive his soul.

The back door opened. A pause. Then a snarl. "Are y' just gonna stand there, gawkin'?" Remy knelt down next to Spike and placed his hand on the other man's back. He murmured something softly to him before glaring at Hank and Jean. They flinched at the true anger they saw in his eyes.

"Were y' plannin' on doin' anything? Or were you just gonna sit by and watch someone else take care of what you want to do yourselves?" There was an undercurrent to the remark. Anger, directed at them, and it was not just about Spike. It was not just about the scene he had walked in on. It was about something more.

"Come on." Remy said as he helped Spike stand shakily to his feet. "Y' can stay in my room till y' figure things out. Whatever it is y' need to figure out."

* * *

Hank and Jean stared at each other after the men left, sure that a jab had been made at them, but not quite sure about what.

* * *

Sorry for the wait you guys! Alas, it is college application season :). I will be trying to go somewhere other than community college.

Now, I just wanted to say, this IS NOT a comedy, but I do try and put in a few funny lines here and there. I can't stand if it is too serious all the time.

Welcome to the begining of slashyness.

And Thanks for all the reviews!


	4. Apologies Don't Make It Better

Spike stared up at the ceiling. He wouldn't look at Remy and Remy did not try to engage him, instead filing through papers on his desk, putting books away, and all the other cleaning projects he had been putting off. He knew what he was going through. Suddenly realizing all that had happened since unconsciousness and wakefulness, wondering how long he had been gone would freak anybody out. Spike just needed time for his memories to connect with real time. Right now. Wondering why no one had come looking for him yet. It was a lonely feeling, unsure if you were being betrayed or if you deserved it. Remy could only guess why a vampire would feel any guilt what so ever, but the only way he himself could come to terms with having the vampire in his room was to figure out how much the vampire was like a human. He seemed emotionally shell shocked, laying on Remy's bed, trembling as if with cold when the room was warm. Much like Remy had done when he had....no, he wasn't going to think about that now.

"You don't like me." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Spike looked at him with clear eyes, leaning up on his elbows. He glanced at the clock. He had been trying to gather back his missing memories for at least 45 minutes. It had done nothing but give him a headache. He couldn't even be able to figure things out. Buffy had gotten out. He was glad. She deserved a shot at a life without so much responsibility, with the potential slayers helping relieve her duties. It just saddened him to his core that he could not be there with her. But she didn't need him. She needed a man, which he was not, and could not be no matter how much he tried to pretend he could. But he still couldn't guess at where he was. A different dimension? Time? It made no sense.

"No." Shuffled papers.

"Why?"

"Y'r a vamp. Y' get pleasure outta hurtin' people. You can' help it, it's in y'r nature. It's what y' are." He paused for a moment. The need to be honest with this strange man, to be brutally honest for the first time, probably ever in his life was something he did not try to hold back. It was different than being truthful with the team. This man did not have any ideas about how he was supposed to be. "And y'r like me. Y've killed people. Yet y' feel guilty, and I can't figure out why. Y'r confusin'. Y' seem to feel, and that helps some, but in the end, y'r still a vamp. Nothin' y' do can ever change that." Remy broke off eye contact and looked out the window. He wasn't just saying these things to Spike for Spike's sake, he was hammering home what he was, making sure he wouldn't forget. Twisting the knife, making it sting. HE was a murderer. He could not change what he was. He never would be able to change his nature.

"Why did you say that to them?" Suddenly, changing subjects. He wasn't upset by what Remy had told him. He knew it was the truth. Like every truth Buffy had ever said to him. But for which one of them he was still kind of shaky on.

"What?" Remy asked, looking back at him. "Who?" Why was this man still talking to him? Didn't he get the "Y'r like me" bit and then the basic admission that he was a _murderer_. He guessed vampires didn't get all worried about the company they kept.

"That they were just waiting for someone else to do what they wanted to do themselves. The bloke and the little bit." He stared at him with that gaze, looking at him too intently. Remy shivered under it. It was strange to have someone actually _listen_ to what he had to say. He couldn't help but make an ass out of himself and try to piss the other guy off in the process. He didn't _want _this guy caring about what he had to say. He wanted to be left alone, like he had been for months. He hated Scott and Jean, and sometimes Hank trying to drag him into some "family bonding" type crap. He was only here until he could find the next place to move on to.

He chuckled bitterly. "M' ex-girlfriend tried to kill me." Spike did not blink an eye, but he had not been expecting that admission. What do you say to that? "The team had left, and then she left m'." He paused. "In Antarctica. Wit' no armor. No one figured I'd get out. They just....left. They let _her_ leave me 'cause they didn' want to have to take any blame. She's already murdered people. What does it matter if she killed one more, right? But it wasn' just her. They wanted m' dead, too". He laughed in a kind of hysterical way that was one breath away from sobbing.

Spike tried to rationalize while processing this information. "Bullocks. How do you even know they knew what she did? Right? You said they left already. Maybe...." He paused, trying to think of some explanation. The blue furry man and the red head hadn't seemed that kind of vicious. But he couldn't think of any reason for why that could have happened. Unless the man was lying.

"I don't believe that story, that's for sure." He said finally, his voice flat. The red-eyed man was lying. Unexplainable stuff like that didn't happen to other people. It happened to the Scoobies. That was it. Remy's closed eyes snapped open, full of an unholy fire. Spike realized his misstep, but it was too late to repair the damage.

"Get out!" He growled through clenched teeth. Spike scrambled up.

"Look, I didn't mean it like-"

Remy said nothing, just shook with fury and pointed to the door.

"Fine then." Spike said quietly. "I believe I will take my leave." Knowing he had messed up but unsure of how to repair the damage.

* * *

Remy lay stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head. He was thinking, something he had been doing a lot lately. After the vampire had slunk out of his room like a wounded puppy he had locked the door and laid down.

He tried not to dwell on Antarctica. He tried not to throw himself a pity party. He was the same person he was before he left. The only difference was that now he did not try to pretend to like the people he lived with. The team thought he was brooding, pouting, whatever they would be doing in a similar position. They thought because he wouldn't go near them that he must feel ashamed, that he must feel guilty and unworthy and whatever other bullshit they were projecting onto him. Hank had tried to apologize to him. He coolly, but politely, brushed him off. He had no doubt his apology was sincere, but frankly Scarlett, he didn't give a damn.

Ororo wouldn't look at him. He grimly chuckled at the thought of what he would have done if she had tried to apologize. A nice 'shove it, dear', came to mind. A hypocrite was one thing, a self righteous hypocrite was another. He had loved her at one point, but...love was a fickle thing.

* * *

"Magneto's citadel was collapsing and Rogue wouldn't let him die there. She...saved him....only to leave him out in the open. I'm really not the one to ask about this." Hank said nervously. "I'm not quite sure of the full story. I don't think anyone is, except Rogue and Remy. And it appears you have...burned your bridges with him, yes?"

"I told him he was a liar." Spike said simply.

"Well..." Pausing, Hank cleaned his glasses, thinking. He looked up when Spike chuckled.

"Buffy's watcher, Giles, always did that. I think it must be a smart person's trait."

"I've never met anyone but myself who did it. That would be interesting to see. They tease me mercilessly."

"I bet."

Hank paused for a moment. "If you do not mind me being so intrusive, I would ask that you try to repair your tentative relationship with Remy. No one has been able to get close to him since he got back. I think you may have the best chance."

Spike shrugged, a silent 'okay' as he stood up and made to leave. He felt the need to apologize anyway. "I have a feeling no one was really close to him before either. Blocks like us...we're kind of the same."

Hank gripped his coffee cup as he mulled over this new information. He wondered if anything he had ever been shown from that man was real.

* * *

Spike's incessant knocking was met with an angry curse and the door yanked open, the taller man looking angrily down at him. Spike realized he hadn't felt short in a long while and wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Look," He began, "I wanted to apologize for being an arse earlier. I'm a sodding idiot sometimes-"

"Okay." Remy cut in. Jesus, what was with everybody and the God damned apologies?

"Can we...start over?" He didn't know why he was asking, it felt important though, something that he should do to make up for being a twit. Even though it was more like Remy giving him another chance...

"No."

Startled, Spike pulled back. "No...?"

"There' no do overs, no startin' over, no remakes. I' is as i' is and that' not gonna change."

Spikes temped flew as the door began to shut in his face.

"Look here, you're being an asshole." Spike said pushing the door back fully open. "I'm trying to make up for the fact that I was an ass, and it seems to me that your friends are trying to make up for what they did as well, but you're just not accepting any of it are you? What do you want? A parade? National holiday? A good fuck?"

Remy had stood quietly listening to the rant and smirked wryly. "Yeah, actually, a good fuck sounds good, but there' so few of 'em around. What can I do about that?" He leaned in close, his voice lowered. "Here' t' problem. People a' fallin' over themselves to apologize, say 'I'm sorry', like my forgiveness is gonna clear their conscience. Well how 'bout this? I want them to break under the weight of their conscience. I don't give a shit about whether me saying 'I forgive y'' is gonna make any difference. Yeah, I'm an asshole. And I don' fuckin' care."

"Well you better start carrying, you sodding moron. Because you're going to lose ally our friends if you keep it up."

Remy's smirk fled. "What made you think I had any in the first place?" He asked quietly before shutting the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Spike felt the same infuriation with Remy as he had with Buffy. Too sodding pigheaded. He slammed his way down the stairs, thankful that the curtains had been drawn shut so he wasn't stuck in the lower levels. Jean's head popped up from where she was flipping through a magazine.

"He won't talk to you?" She asked, sympathetic. She had tried to get Remy to open up to her, to no avail. Hank had filled her in on the situation.

"No. Wants everyone else to wallow in their misery that he has no idea how much its hurting him."

Jean nodded. "I'd be a bit vengeful myself."

Spike shrugged. He got _why_ Remy was behaving like a brat. That didn't mean it was okay. "How do I get him to talk to me? He'll have nothing to do with me now."

"Well," she replied slowly, "I guess you'll just have to make him." She gave him a toothy smile as she got up and left him alone to determine just how to "make him" talk.

He only stopped to think for a moment about why he was so interested in the boy. He could only supposed it kept his mind away from the other situation, the one Hank was still trying to figure out. No use freaking out.

He thought of all the ways he had tried to make Buffy talk and quickly discarded them. They mostly involved shagging, and he didn't think everyone would be pleased to see him essentially raping one of their own in the doorway. Best kept behind closed doors.

* * *

The knocking was driving him nuts. If it was that God damned vampire again he was going to stake him himself. He yanked the door open and found the vampire (damn him!) shoving his way inside.

One pale arm snaked around and grabbed him by the hair (damn pussy!) while closing the door with his foot completely taking Remy by suprise. With one hand Remy pinched at the soft inside of Spike's wrist, trying to free his throbbing head out of the death hold while he hooked his leg around and knocked him off balance. Remy fell on top of him as Spike ignored his attempts to break free and was still yanking his hair. Really, who pulls hair?

Remy froze when Spike planted his knees on either side of his hips and, with his head twisted as an odd angle, pinned him with his other arm. Remy would swear he felt his ribs creak with the pressure.

"Guess what?" Spike said with glee. He really was enjoying himself! It was almost as good as beating up demons, though his didn't think the boy would appreciate the comparison. "I have full permission to make you talk. Direct words from the redhead." Remy glared. "Do you know what that means? It means you, arsehole, are going to talk. Or you'll break some ribs. Got me?"

Remy didn't answer. Oh, he didn't doubt the man could kill him if he wanted to. He just didn't think he was going to. There was a difference between ability and drive, and the man was not on the right drive for murder.

"Now, I'd like to know how old you are."

Remy tried to look at him, only to have his hair yanked gently (for the vampire). He gave him his best, _are you serious_ look.

"Twenty-six."

"Awww, you're a baby." Spike said with a leering smile. He was met with a sideways glare.

"Why do you want everybody else to suffer?" Ahh, right to the heart of the question.

"They don' have a problem tryin' t' make me miserable." When he stopped Spike shook him like a terrier shakes a rat. "What else?" Spike asked sweetly. He should have been a therapist instead of torturing people with railroad spikes. He would have made better money and gotten them to cry faster.

"Do y' know how long I've lived here?" Remy asked, not even trying to look at him anymore, just staring at the wall. "Four years. An' I've listened t' all the bullshit about how we're supposed t' be protectin' people and yada yada, and they're all up on they're high horse because they're the good guys. Y' know, they never really liked me 'cause I wasn't always straight and narrow like them. But f'rget about it. When it's other people they're supposed to take the moral high road, but when it's their feelin's well, they can do whatever they need t' t' make themselves feel better. So they can fuck themselves and think they're so much better than everybody else because they're _x-men._ Being an X-men doesn't mean shit anymore.

"Ah, thats the trouble isn't it?" Spike, finally seeing for the first time, realized what was going on. "They gave you a dream to hold onto and then they yanked it away from you. Hard to find your balance against isn't it?"

Remy opened his eyes wider to stop the wetness he felt there from accumulating but did not reply. Spike had wound it up into a weight and thrown it into his chest, knocking the breath from him.

"You're still yourself, but instead of treating them like the friends and family they were to you before, you treat them like people you detest. Because you do detest them."

"An' they hate me. What's the difference? I' doesn't matter anymore."

That caught Spike's attention. "Why doesn't it matter?" He hoped Remy wasn't becoming suicidal. The boy reminded him so much of how he used to be. Angry. Unsure. But ready to fight off everyone to keep those he loved safe. He felt his heart tug for the boy.

"I'm leavin'. Not doin' this shit no more." He felt unbalanced. For some reason there was nothing no important to him than the boy staying.

"What can I do to convince you to stay?" Remy looked at him. For being a vampire, he wasn't that bad. Somebody he would have been friends with if things had been different. He didn't know why the man wanted him to stay so badly that the desperation was written on his face.

"Nothin'. Can't stay here no more. Can't stand everybody tryin' to apologize. Just want everyone to f'rget and go back t' how it used t' be."

"Nothing will change your mind?"

"Non."

Spike turned his head so he could look him in the eyes. So close to dead those eyes looked. Spike just wanted to comfort him, to take away the pain. Like he had tried to do with Buffy. Like she never let him. He wondered if the boy would let him.

Remy was shocked when cool lips pressed against his throat. He felt a small nip and prepared himself for a replay of the medlab. His pulse drummed through his veins, hot and heavy. If Spike didn't have the chip, this boy would have been someone he would have bitten. As it was he left a trail of kisses up his jugular vein. Remy cursed himself as he reacted and tried to calm down his heating mind. He doubted very many men would be appreciative of what he had to offer, especially a vampire. He was obviously toying with him. Spike shifted to accommodate the growing gift from the boy that strained against his jeans, brushing against his own growing desire, causing a thrill down his spine. He growled low in his throat. He wanted to posses him.

The boy squirmed against him, becoming drunk on him. He let himself go, knowing what was going to happen, but not trying to stop it. Wanting it. Let the control go. If only Buffy had been able to let her guard down. His growl turned angry at the thought and the boy tensed against him.

_Let Buffy go. She has a new life to start, _he chided himself. He turned his focus back to the boy. Remy seemed to sense the change in emotion. He arched back as Spike's hands made their way up his shirt, gently pulling and twisting his nipples. A cool tongue opened his lips, consuming him. He felt the fire, the weakness of desire. And it burnt him up. It consumed him. And it consumed Spike, until there was nothing left to do but try to quench it.

* * *

Yay! Slashyness!


	6. Chapter 6

Time really does seem to fly.

* * *

Remy stretched lazily in bed like the cat Hank always compared him to. For once a smile played on his lips which held not an ounce of sarcasm or bitterness. But he did notice the lack of that firm body next to his, but it did not worry him. He felt…something for this vampire. That worried him more than anything, but even that worry faded in the light of what happened last night. It was hard to think of him as a vampire rather than just a man. A man who seemed to care about him in some way for some reason he could not fathom.

He pulled on some jeans and a tee and padded out of his room, down the hallway, down one flight of stairs, until he was standing above the main area where everyone tended to gather. There was Spike…with Jean. She was smiling wickedly, leaning close to Spike. He leaned towards her as well as he rested his weight against the wall.

"Yeah, I tell you Red, I never would have thought he had it in him. But the boy's a pretty awesome shag. Wouldn't mind another round to tell you the truth."

Jean giggled at the outrageousness of Spike actually saying that. "I bet. Aren't you glad you took my little hint?"

"Entirely, my dear. Very grateful I am. I always appreciate being led to the great lays of a place. Can't wait to get a bit more tail from that one. A lot more wild than he lets on."

Remy clenched his teeth. Instead of throwing himself over the stair railing and beating the complete shit out of the cocky vampire who was talking about him like he was…some kind of cheap whore, he faded back into the shadows and flew up the stairs, quieter than the thief he was trained to be.

He paced his room, too furious to think clearly. He was torn between running back downstairs and killing the damn vampire anyway, and leaving. A part of his mind suggested just pretending he had never heard anything….but, shit like that would just claw inside his chest till he had to let it out. Passive aggressive wasn't really his style but he could make it work if he had to.

Spike walked in and immediately noticed Remy's agitation. He sighed inwardly. He thought he had taken care of at least some of Remy's irritability, but apparently it hadn't gone over as well as he had believed.

"Something wrong love?" He wrapped his arms around Remy's waist only to be shoved off, hard enough that he clipped the wall as he fell back. He stared at the boy in shock, only to be met with glowing crimson eyes.

"Don't fuckin' touch me. D' y' think I'm completely fuckin' stupid? Don't play this bullshit game with me and get the fuck out of my room." Remy snarled and Spike was taken aback by that amount of anger directed at him of all people.

He reached out to touch him only to have his hand smacked away.

"Sexual frustration much?" He asked the boy, letting his anger show. He didn't know what to make of the look the boy held in his eyes. He had struck a raw nerve but he didn't know why.

"Dunno, obviously not your issue is it? After all, you like to find all the good lays in a place." Spike stared at him in shock. He heard him, obviously. When he had been talking to the redhead, the new "Red" in his life. But he must have only heard part of it. He softened.

"Come here." He commanded softly, holding his arms out to hold him. Obviously whatever he had heard cut him deep, but instead of showing his hurt he showed his anger.

Remy wanted to hear something that would make it all better, but Spike knew he wasn't going to come to him. Spike was going to have to earn trust the old fashioned way. He sat on the bed, hands dangling loosely between his legs.

"Jean gave me the idea you know. Well, that's not true; I had the idea already, at least part of it." He leered at that. "But she gave me the permission. So I came up here, not really sure what I was gonna do, but here you were, the walking wounded, bitter and angry and full up to the brim with the hurt you would never show. Cause you didn't want them to know how much they had meant to you and how much what they did hurt." Remy closed his eyes at hearing that. Wondered if he was really that transparent. But though this vampire had gotten the gist right…he could never know what it was like to be completely _alone_. And he was still alone. No one could touch him inside, where he was still frozen.

"So I tried to find you, you know, who you are inside that pretty head of yours, what kind of bloke. And I didn't see much. Like you'd already shut off and decided that this world wasn't worth your effort. Then I saw that spark. And it…ignited in me what the taste of your blood had already done. And it was there, singing in your veins, calling out to me from….other…..blood filled areas. And I wanted it, and I wanted you."

He paused, wondering how far was too far, how far would drive the boy away from him completely.

"I wasn't lying, what I told her. You are a great shag. And I don't mean that in the way that that's all that it was. It was something more, and I want this to be something more. This…fire in me burns bright and hot, dries me out and all I crave is you to put it out. Or make it burn hotter."

Remy looked at him from behind a blank mask. It was too much to process, but….

"I'm not some fuckin' two bit whore, so don't think because I fucked you once that it's gonna happen again. It will never happen again. And I'd be really God Damned grateful if you'd keep your bedroom tales to yourself. Cause what I do is my own business, even if I did it with you."

He looked at him with distain. "Now, get the fuck out of my room."

Spike's hope deflated at the finality of the boy's statement. He understood he was angry. He just hoped that Remy wouldn't ignore his own desires out of spite for him.

He closed the door quietly behind him. The click of the lock back into place had a finality about it that weighed his soul.


	7. Chapter 7

Warning: Some slightly graphic slash.

* * *

Jean took one glance at Spike's dejected appearance and pulled the entire story from him in a matter of moments, though he seemed reluctant to talk about Remy's side of it.

"I don't think you should try to get in a relationship with him, William." They sat at the kitchen table, Jean nursing a coffee, Spike nursing a mug of lukewarm blood that Hank was leaving in the fridge until they could come up with a better arrangement. They hid it in the vegetable drawer since no one went in there and they didn't want to create any nervousness among the teammates that were not privy to Spike's "condition".

Spike looked at her sharply, surprised at her change in attitude.

"If it's already in this stage now, it'll never get any better." She explained. "The first stage of a relationship everyone is on their best behavior…this is probably the best he'll give you. It's not worth it."

He considered this for a moment. She had a point, and maybe it would have made a difference if he and the boy were not already connected. Remy may not be aware of this connection, but it was there, and the vampire Spike was sensed this.

He shook his head. "I have to keep going. It's about love…and it's about souls that meet and recognize each other from just a brush of contact and they go 'hey, I never knew you existed but you feel so right, I never knew something was missing till you filled that spot'. He's that missing piece for me. The way it works in the vampire world is you basically find a….mate. And they are yours and you are theirs. But it's not something you can really choose in the traditional sense. There can only be one possible mate at a time. You can reject them, for whatever reason, maybe they reject you. But until they die, another mate is not born for you. Do you understand?"

Jean nodded sadly. "I think you may find that he will reject you though. I don't think he's up for another relationship right now."

"It will be hard work to get him to consider it since it ties him to me and my life. But I like nothing if not a challenge." He smiled wickedly with a confidence he did not feel in the slightest.

Remy threw on his trench coat and grabbed the keys to his motorcycle off of his nightstand. It was eight o'clock and everyone else was settling for a weeknight's activity, holding up in the rec room watching some bad sitcom or the other since they had to contend for any students that would join then. That was the problem with living in a school, he wasn't a kid but because there _were_ kids so he got treated the same. It meant even if he went to Harry's he couldn't get completely smashed. He had to at least pretend that he could walk straight.

As he walked past the rec room a few heads turned but no one said a word. He kept himself from giving them any attention. Part of him wanted some kind of confrontation, something to put all the buried bullshit that they all had, him included, into the open, to stop pretending like everything was great and all that bad shit was in the past. Part of him wanted to fade away into the background, have it be unnoticed when he finally left. Leaving was the only thing he had ever been good at. It was the only gift he had to give them. He would be lying if he said he didn't want them to feel anything about it. He wanted them to feel the deep-seated melancholy that he carried within him all the time. It was unshakable and it festered within him with a kind of muted rage and shame and the desire to give some of it back. Consider it karma.

Spike's keen eyes followed him from where he stood, leaning against one of the old trees, smoking cigarette after cigarette, dropping the butts on the ground and grinding them into the ground. He'd been in this position before. But this time he knew he wasn't just waiting for the figure to pass in front of the curtain, walk in front of the window and look out into the night but not see him, something that used to make his undead heart tremble with remembered beats. This time he was watching to follow, not blindly with the infatuation, the desire for any word to be thrown his way, but with a purpose. He couldn't help but wonder if he had lost that part of William when he had burnt up, that part that led him to believe that others loved him as he loved (or thought he loved) them. He knew that Remy's desire to punish his teammates was also a desire to punish himself, whether he'd admit that to himself or not. It wasn't as though Spike hadn't been in that same position, trying to get back at Dru for changing him, Angel for changing her, and Darla for changing Angel. It had been a hard day when he realized that he was trying to pay some penance for being damned, a choice he had never made. He told whatever power there may be to shove it. The damned life wasn't long enough to waste it trying to make better something that never could be done. Remy would find out the same thing. One day. There was no changing. Only accepting.

The roar of the motorcycle echoed in the small confines of the garage and Spike longed for his own bike. He wondered what the gang had done with it. Whether they had sold it or he could try and get it back without bringing himself back into their lives. Oh, the complications of being thought dead!

He fingered the keys in his own pocket as the sound faded down the driveway and onto the street. Surely Scott wouldn't miss his convertible. After all, it had been his wife who gave Spike the keys.

The convertible was very nice, leather seats, good radio system, nice little gadgets that he would have to test out later. Scott had managed to pull it off without the car looking pretentious, like some James Bond wanna be comic-con reject. It felt nice to be behind the wheel of a car again. After all, he'd been driving way before anyone else in this house by a long shot.

It wasn't hard to figure out where the boy was going. Jean had passed along the helpful information that he was probably going to a local bar that was the mansions favorite…and now his almost nightly haunt. He steered with a loose hand, the other shifting, such natural movements that were easier to him than breathing at this point.

Remy didn't notice the car tailing him as Spike was such an expert at stalking and Remy wasn't paying attention. Spike admired the boy's handling of the bike as he took curves much too fast, though at one point the bike leaned so low to the ground that he thought the bike would slide out from under him. It didn't, but the bike pulled off the road, eventually throwing up gravel behind his tires as he pulled into the lot Harry's sat on. Spike also worried about his recklessness. Remy would one day either end up dead or kill someone else if he didn't put the brakes on his behavior.

He pulled the car over onto the far side of the lot and waited. He didn't want Remy to think he had been followed, though if he had any sense he would think that anyway. Spike just wanted to stroll in and act as though it was such a surprise to see Remy there.

He waited almost twenty minutes. He guessed that Remy was probably well into the bottle at that point. He seemed like the type of person who had to be at either extreme in everything he did.

As soon as he entered the bar the he caught looks. The ones from women were appreciative, while he knew that the guys were thinking he was some kind of Nancy boy, what with his hair done up that way and what the fuck was he doing in their bar?

Spike spotted Remy sitting at a back table by himself, a shot glass and a bourbon bottle that was a little more than half full at this point. And it was a large bottle. He just looked at Spike when he pulled out a chair and sat across from him.

Spike didn't say anything at first, but Remy seemed determined to stay silent. He poured himself another shot and downed it in one swallow, poured himself another and let it sit there for a moment in his fingers before offering it silently to Spike. Spike took it and threw it back in a long practiced motion. Remy smirked but it faded as he took the empty glass back. He stared at the glass rather than look at Spike. Spike meanwhile took in the slight duck of the head, the nervous fingers, the stiff way he held himself. He also knew they were being watched out of the corners of people's eyes.

"What? No hello, love?" Spike asked finally. Remy's silence was unnerving him.

"What am I supposed to say? Either y' followed me, which seems likely, or someone told y' where I go, which is jus' as likely." Spike listened to his voice, amazed at how even a simple word like 'supposed' ended up drawling out into four syllables, or 'likely' sounded like 'lahkley'. "And I'm pretty sure I made it pretty clear tha' I don't wanna be around y'." He continued. Spike's heart only sank a little at that comment because he had a plan. They were meant to be together, the Powers That Be wouldn't give him something just to take it away…would they? This was not like Buffy, he told himself firmly.

He gazed at him intently for a moment, meeting Remy's flat expression. "I don't believe you." He finally stated. He took the bottle and took a swig, slamming it down on the table before tipping his chair back.

Other bar patrons looked back at the noise but soon carried on into their own conversations. Remy looked at the bottle for a moment. He pulled it to close and poured himself a shot. "How d' y' figure that?" He asked softly, not looking at Spike.

The conversation had turned and Spike no longer wanted to have it in a bar. He stood up and grabbed the bottle. "Come on then. Let you and me go have a chat." He had already turned and headed out of the bar. He didn't even check to see if Remy was behind him. At this point he couldn't predict which way this was all going to turn, but something had to give.

He stood outside for a moment, noting the slight breeze that brought the smell of wood smoke with it. A moment later he felt the heat radiating behind his back as Remy looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed, his whole body tense. Spike knew he had fought himself, questioned why he was letting himself be dragged along by someone he wasn't even sure if he liked. Spike also knew that his curiosity had won out, but that didn't mean that Remy was any happier with him. Spike wondered just what exactly it was that had turned him so far against him.

Spike silently got in the car and Remy got on his bike, following him off of the lot.

He didn't know where he was heading, just knew he was driving away from the bar, from the mansion and Remy was not driving like a maniac anymore.

Spike pulled off onto the shoulder and Remy pulled up beside him, kicking the kickstand down and getting off the bike in one fluid movement. Spike looked at him through the rear view mirror and admired the cat-like grace. He felt his blood stir. He never claimed to be a saint, guy or girl he'd jump on it all. Sex, like blood was something that kept him alive, aware, feeling. He adjusted his jeans, trying to get the tent to go down. He growled. Like he really needed to think about that now. He stepped out of the car, trying to pretend like nothing was wrong. Remy leaned against the back of the car. Spike took in the sinewy muscle that bulged on his crossed arms, the long, lean form with jeans that hugged that tight ass and a shirt that showed off his sculpted silhouette. Shit, like this was going to make his erection go down. He wondered briefly why he was so horny, why he just wanted to lay down that sweet smelling boy on the trunk of the car and fuck him senseless, more passionate than the other night, which was the fumbling awkwardness of a new lover, suckle him, bite him, love him. Inwardly Spike rolled his eyes at himself as he adjusted his jeans again. Thank God it was virtually pitch black. The only color he could see was the white of Remy's skin. It felt like a black and white movie. Where was the organ music?

Remy took something out of his pocket and Spike heard the distinctive crinkle of a cigarette box. In a moment the red glow lit up those demonic eyes. Remy inhaled, feeling the burn, the nicotine laced burn that calmed his nervous mind, and the alcohol relaxed him, dulled his fear. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"You wanna talk?" Spike said after bumming a cigarette.

"What's there t' talk about?"

"Why are you so mad at me all of a sudden, pet?" Spike repressed the desire to nuzzle the boy's neck, to nip at him. "I mean, I know _why,_ but why?"

Remy shrugged his shoulders. The day had exhausted his mental resources and the alcohol wasn't helping.

"I don't want to be some lay. I've used people like that often enough and it's not fulfilling either way. I used Rogue that way, and it did nothing but nearly destroy us both. And I'm…sick of giving other people some kind of control over me. I don't want y' to have any control over me."

Spike stayed quiet for a moment, listening to the boy's breaking, the steady, strong heart rhythm. Thinking about his potential mate. Maybe…..maybe it would work out. Maybe it wouldn't. He had to at least try.

He sidled closer to Remy, pushing himself off the car to stand in front of Remy. Remy was taller than him. He'd never been with anyone who was taller than him.

"Well…that works, luv, 'cause I don't want to have any control over you. I want you. I want me. Equal. No control, of me over you or you over me. I want memories and love and fun and madness. I think you've got a bit of that in you. I want to touch your core."

Remy cocked his head at that, a small smile on his face.

Spike chuckled. "Don't do that; don't turn everything I say into something dirty."

"Why is it my fault if y' make it that way?"

"I make-? Oh, shut it. You know that was all you. Pervert."

"At least I'm a sexy pervert."

"Oh, you are at that," Spike purred, giving in to his urge and nuzzled the boy who leaned away, giving Spike more room to work. His kissed just under Remy's ear ad felt the goose bumps rise. Remy pulled his face away from his neck and pulled him up for a bruising kiss. He ran his tongue over Spike's pallet, pausing for a moment when Spike rocked his hips against his and the sharp points of fangs came down. He ran his tongue over the fangs, feeling a shiver as he felt a cut appear on his tongue. Spike pulled back for a moment, searching Remy's eyes. Remy answered by kissing him against. Spike growled low in his chest, attacking Remy's mouth, growing harder at the coppery sugar taste. Remy shifted so Spike was between his thighs, giving him a light squeeze. Spike reached his hands around and roughly grabbed Remy's tight ass, lifting him onto the car. He felt the boy's hardness press against his chest. Remy curled his fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Should we really be doing this here?" Remy mumbled as Spike was working at getting his short off.

"Why? Not an exhibitionist?" Remy's chuckle turned into a groan as he was nipped at the hollow of his throat.

"Only sometimes." He managed to gasp out. "But this isn't a not busy road."

"Okay," Spike said, grabbing Remy again, fumbling to grab the door handle, and laid Remy on the back seat, trying to simultaneously get his own jeans undone and Remy's jeans undone. Remy batted his hand away.

"Let me." Spike twitched at feeling the hot hands under his shirt, fingers dipping below his jeans to get them off. He pushed them off, his shirt soon followed. He pulled Spike's cold body against him, relishing the hardness, the coolness. He felt like he was burning up.

"I wanna see your face." Spike said, moving down till he was between Remy's thighs, thankful that the car was so spacious. He held the flesh between his teeth, only putting a little bit of pressure, not wanting to break the skin. Remy arched and looked at Spike's eyes, willing him to continue.

It was going to be a long night.


	8. Chapter 8

As repayment for taking _forever_ to put up a new chapter of _any _of my stories, I give you this.

* * *

After one round in Scott's convertible the silent decision was reached to take this back to the mansion. Spike banged a uey in the road and headed back towards the mansion in a reasonably speedy manner. Remy followed on his bike.

Remy never claimed to be sexually pure, but he didn't have sex as much as everyone seemed to think he did. He had a few guys in his life, but in those relationships he generally topped. Not that he had _never_ been bottom, but when he scoped a guy out, the ones he picked rarely wanted to take charge. He wondered vaguely what that said about him as he brought his bike into the curve of road. But with the right person, being the bottom bitch was just fine with him, as long as they knew what they were doing. And Spike knew what he was doing. They had both shared a horrified laugh when they found the miniature bottle of lube buried under Scott's car registration papers for the last couple of years. It wasn't even open. Hopefully Scott wouldn't go looking for it any time soon, because it was entirely gone. Once they were in the car, Spike managed to elbow him in the stomach when he pushed the seats up, and Remy had banged his head on the door. Remy couldn't help but laugh, and after Spike took a moment to get over his embarrassment he was laughing as well. They both laughed until they were crying and couldn't breath. Finding the lube and only started them cracking up again. Remy quieted when Spike looked at him with an indecipherable look on his face. He saw the play of emotions running through the vampire's eyes and wondered what he was thinking about. A niggling sense of anxiety passed through Remy. He was all too aware of his nudity at that moment and began to shift slightly in an attempt to shield himself from the other man's view.

"Don't." the low voice was spoken, raspy, from somewhere deep in Spike's chest. It sent a thrill of desire down Remy's spine and straight to his cock. _Fuck._

When they had fucked yesterday, it was harried, rough and tinged with an element of violence and restless desire. Spike hadn't been paying too much attention to his new lover's (_mate, _the demon voice inside him insisted) body. Instead, he had watched his face. The way the red of his eyes had flared as he came, throat working, eyes clenched as though in pain. And those long fingered hands which applied pressure and- _ugh_, he needed him, needed him now.

His fingers ghosted over his own erection and he gave himself a few slow strokes, watching the way Remy's breath caught and stilled in his chest, the way his cock twitched. The shadows from the trees tattooed the younger man's skin, a monochrome film that was just like real life. Real, like in the movies. The only color was the red of Remy's eyes; they began to glow. He wanted him.

Remy jerked when Spike lowered himself and slowly took his cock in his mouth. The cool mouth did anything but dampen the fire growing inside his mind. He felt the cool fingers gently trailing along his thighs, then circling around his entrance before pushing inside. First one finger, then after a few moments, another, while he licked up the underside of his shaft and twirled his tongue over his head. He was stretching him, preparing him. As wonderful as a blow job was, knowing that that was not what was going to be bringing him off tonight, made him give a gasped moan.

"You ready?" That same deep voice caught on the last word as he spoke .

"Fuck yes," Remy managed, the heat in his own voice surprised him. The pressure, the unexpected heat rested against his entrance for a moment as Remy maneuvered himself to make it easier for both of them, before Spike slowly sheathed himself within his fire hot body. Now was not a time to rush. God, he felt feverish, half delirious, half-consumed. It took them a couple of moments to match rhythm.

Remy looked through half lidded eyes at the vampire, bleached white as bone within the scant moonlight. He wondered how he managed to snag this beautiful demon, the one he hadn't even known he wanted. It certainly wasn't his winning personality or positive attitude. He shook the doubts from his mind. All that mattered was the here and now.

He could feel himself approaching closer to the edge every time Spike's cock made contact with his prostate. His muscles began to tremble. His hand found his jeans and fished through his pocket. Spike gave him an odd look, but as Remy hadn't stopped moving against him, he kept the rhythm going. Remy found the weight of metal in his pocket that he was looking for. He hoped he knew what he was doing. It scared him a bit to do this, but he knew that it would drive Spike over the edge. With a quiet _snikt_ be opened the switchblade and drew it with moderate pressure right above his collarbone, at the base of his throat. The sweat that coated his skin made the cut sting. Spike stilled. Remy dropped that blade on the floor and shyly met the vampire's eyes. He hoped that he had made the right move.

"Why?" Spike choked out. No one had ever done something like that for him. Buffy never would have considered it. The smell of blood as it beaded and made the slow journey over that too prominent collarbone was ambrosia, erotic. The smell almost made him come.

"Because you need it. Because I want to give you what you want." Remy answered simply.

"I want _you_." was the growled response. Spike pulled back and slide back into him _hard, _balls slapping against his ass_._ Remy gasped at the new pace and ferocity. He pushed back with equal strength. Oh God. His breath became labored, shallow. He was so close. Close. Close. Those cool lips sucked on his neck, taking in his blood. His blood, in Spike. The sensation, the though. His eyes flared red under closing lids. He was coming. Coming. Come- And Spike followed, filling him with warmth. He collapsed on that warm chest. After a few moments he pulled his softening dick out of the other man, but continued to rest between his thighs. He pushed himself up on trembling arms. He felt high. The wound was already beginning to close. Spike caught those soft lips in a gentle kiss. He cradled that auburn head as he made soft love to those lips, suckling on his bottom lip, a bare grazing of teeth.

"I still want you," he murmured into the younger man's ear. He felt rather than saw his grin.

"Then we'd best be getting' back to the mansion. Scotty's car is too small for me to take much more backseat romping. I think I'm gonna have a bruise in my back from this damn door." He chuckled softly. They began to get dressed, but gentle hands, wrapping around waist, cupping face, moments of staring at each-other in silent wonder and a growing feeling of connectedness kept them in the back seat of the car for far longer than it should have taken them to redress. Remy reluctantly hopped over the door, and felt the soreness already beginning to set in. Spike crawled into the front seat.

Unspoken agreement led them to Remy's room. Spike had a room, the windows painted black. But it was unfurnished. It was fine for sleeping, but not exactly somewhere where one wanted to bring one's friend. Boyfriend? Lover? _Mate_, the demon insisted yet again.

They both settled on the bed. Remy opened his arms and Spike settled himself into that warmth. He just wanted to sleep next to this man. Words kept bubbling up in his throat. His chest felt tight. He wanted to say I love you to the red eyed man, but it was too soon, wasn't it? Much too soon, he didn't want to scare him away, he didn't know how he felt about any of this. Remy might just be in this for the fun and orgasms it gave him. Spike eventually drifted off, thoughts running in circles. He sighed, "I love you," barely more than a whisper. But Remy heard. He tightened his hold on the smaller man, buried his face in the mused hair. He didn't fall asleep until the dawn light began to show around the edge of the curtain. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

Now, you guys may have noticed in my stories I tend to not get very graphic. That's because I've had a couple of things pulled off the site, general problems with from having stories that were too graphic, so I'm still very wary whenever I put up anything mildly graphic. So this is probably the most graphic I'll ever be. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Sorry it's taken so long, I'm in schools and a write papers constantly, so when I have free time more writing is generally not what I'm looking for. May-hap over Christmas break there will be more updates, yeah?


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